


Number Cracker

by slightlyjillian



Series: Numbers [3]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe, Espionage, Gen, mafia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-26
Updated: 2010-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-06 17:44:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlyjillian/pseuds/slightlyjillian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nichol's initiation into the Number's organization was more explosive than the young man had planned. Prequel to the Numbers series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Number Cracker

The scene was slightly more dramatic than the conditions he was used to working in. Nearby, people were shouting. Officers were telling criminals to put their guns down. Criminals were hollering back not to be stupid. Soon, the sparks of light and the crackle of the exposed wires dangling over his head were all that Nichol could see.

He was lying on his back.

Blinking a few times, he took inventory of his limbs. His feet still felt heavy in the shoes he'd put on that morning. One hand was across his chest. The other flung wide at his side. He needed to itch his nose, so Nichol pulled back his outstretched arm. It worked. His stomach clenched and he sat up avoiding the wires.

He couldn't see his comrades as he was still behind the desk in the main office. The glass walls had shattered, possibly from whatever small explosion had knocked Nichol backward from the safe.

The safe. His job.

Then he noticed the shift of legs, one crossing over the other. Eleven sat in the office chair watching him from behind the shine of her glasses.

"I wasn't sleeping," Nichol said stupidly. Obviously.

She didn't comment. Not a hair was out of place from her braids, a sure sign that she'd come in after he tripped the defense trigger. She'd seen him flat on his back unconscious. Not the best initiation as her subordinate. He frowned.

For a moment, his vision had flickered oddly, inverted colors like photograph negatives.

Shaking his head, he gathered his supplies from where they'd scattered. The safe itself, he surmised, was unharmed and, also, unopened. Had he used the wrong fingerprint? Certainly not, he was good at his job. If the print wasn't the issue... his eyes strained to see a stain of melted plastic on the scanning device.

He risked a sideways glance at Eleven who had pulled a dusty text from an overstuffed bookshelf. She casually flipped through the pages as if browsing a magazine in a waiting room.

"Hurry up in there!" A different voice shouted, reminding Nichol that he didn't know how much time he'd lost. The carpet smelled strongly of smoke. It became difficult to swallow without his eyes tearing. That man had smoked and the sensory reminder cut through Nichol's memories as vividly as a knife on the skin.

"No," he murmured. Couldn't have a panic attack now, not with Eleven watching. Her eyes were still in the book.

He only needed one more digit to finish the pattern. And unlike his disjointed vision and his horrified sense of smell, Nichol could trust and had always trusted his hearing.

The dial, the secondary release, gradually clicked until Nichol almost could feel the clunk of the final piece confirmed by his ears. The breath he was holding rushed against the back of his hand still clutching the plastic knob on the safe front.

He was in. In the safe and in with Eleven, if his earlier snafu was forgivable.

What was he going to do if she denied him? Go back on the street? He'd not make it far before the organized criminals snuffed out his business of petty theft. No one survived on the streets without some alliance to the Numbers. He almost remembered a strange happy moment when a smaller boy had gotten lost, needed Nichol's help. But, as far as charitable opportunities, he knew he wouldn't find it as an unsponsored kid on the streets.

"Did you plan to sit there forever?" Eleven asked, in a snide tone.

"We're in. _I'm in._" Nichol tried to sound confident. He'd done exactly what she asked, produced results. How shouldn't matter. "I'm in. You said..."

"Then let's go." The woman reached for her glasses, taking them off and polishing them on a clean piece of floral print fabric. When she spoke next, she sounded as innocent as a child. "Forever in this place...Who could ever want that?"


End file.
